


Into Hell

by epsiloneridani



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Wash is a Helljumper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: Wash. A swarm. Low ammo. Alone. His team is dead. There’s an oncoming horde.One way or another, everyone here is going to die.





	Into Hell

Everyone here is going to die.

He knows it as he knows his team is already gone, knows his ribs are broken and there are rounds in his rifle but they won’t last long, knows this is a damned  _bloodbath_  and they never should have been dropped into it in the first place.

_How do we go?_

_We go feet first._

Feet first into hell. Feet first into hell. His ribs are broken, he’s surrounded, they’re closing in. David clutches his rifle and struggles to stand. Feet first. Feet first. There’s a scream, a shot, a cry.

Feet first.

“C'mon,” he whispers. His hands are shaking, his vision a haze. His chest turns, turns, a hurricane. Closer. Closer. Closing in.

Feet first.

“Come  _on!_ ” he screams, a hoarse challenge that rattles through his helmet’s speakers and shatters the cragged canyon’s deathly still. The marching stumbles to a stop, an Elite’s barking something, snarling, and David swallows blood and bile and drives his teeth into his cheek.

Feet first.

His heart’s pounding, pounding in his ears, a roaring river. They’re overwhelming. They’re an onslaught.

They’re charging forward.

The crag is bad cover but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. David sets his jaw and grits his teeth and drives his boots into the ashes beneath his feet. “Come on,” he growls. His team is dead. He stands alone. “ _Come on_.”

Feet first.

They rise over the horizon like a storm, swarming to the crest, swarming over it, and rumbling across the ragged plains. Closer. Closer.  _Come on. Come on._

They’re nearly to him, nearly within range of his rage, and there’s a flash, a spark, a searing pain and he can’t see and he’s falling to the ground and struggling to breathe. The world is a wash of dark and light, day and night, one moment shadow and the next burning bright. He blinks, blinks. His rifle is just on front of him, a lethal ridge beneath his searching grip. Breathe. See. Breathe.

It takes only a second but even that’s eternity.

The shadow looms larger than life, a spectre’s shroud. There are boots in front of his visor, armor the shade of shattered midnight: deep amaranthine shot through with streaking, screaming crimson. The stance seethes venom, the sky after a nuclear storm. David’s blood runs cold. Myth. Legend.

Spartan.

The sun falls below the horizon’s crest; the Covenant have stopped dead. The sky is on fire; the earth weeps red. Myth. Legend.

Spartan.

The Elite bellows a roar, the Elite barks a cry, and in an instant they forge onward, bathed in the fading light. David clutches his rifle and scrambles to the side. The earth rumbles; the earth is alive.

The Spartan charges.

Everyone here is going to die.

—-


End file.
